


on the theoretical nature of morals

by wintervioleteye (hawkguyed)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Leverage, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen, Leverage AU, We provide leverage, hitter hacker grifter thief, make that leverage international, questionable morals, the recruiting process takes a while, where all of them are thieves and grifters and in Bond's case hitters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 12:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkguyed/pseuds/wintervioleteye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of them have secrets. Some, more than others. Some, like Bond, have blood on their hands. Some, like Eve, have a goal in mind. Others, like Q, are just in it for the ride. </p>
<p>(Where all of them operate under M, the brains behind the British branch of Leverage International.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	on the theoretical nature of morals

M finds Bond first. 

She finds him in Venice, almost statue-esque in the way he’s holding himself, staring at the cup of aromatic coffee before him. 

She finds him when he's still reeling, arm bloody under the white bandage and staggering under the weight of her death. 

The Bond that M sees sitting there is solitary and bitterly angry at the world. It isn't the man that M had seen on file, focused and sharp. This is a man who is hurting because the cause he had believed in betrayed him and took the one thing that mattered away, and now she is going to give him a second chance. 

"I don't do this any more," Bond growls at her when M slides into the chair opposite his, file on the table. That's true, he doesn't. Not with all the blood that's on his hands. Not with her blood on his hands. 

"Sometimes good people do bad things, Mr. Bond," she explains softly. Bond is exactly that kind of man, she has read his file and she is very much aware of the amount of sacrifice he's given to his country, the years he had served. 

The man is unshakably loyal despite his questionable moral compass. After all, Bond is a hired gun, a killer with barely any remorse, but underneath that M knows what else he is. He is a (murderer) good man that had served in a terrible cause, staining his hands an indelible red and further marred by the death of the one person he had loved. 

"Vesper would have wanted you to do some good for a honorable cause." It's a low blow, but M knows. 

She needs a man like this. 

And for him to be efficient, M needs Bond to move on. 

Bond's silence is terrifying, turning over a small piece of metal in his hands. It's a remnant of a necklace, a relic of a life he's now contemplating leaving behind. 

"Mr. Bond-" 

The necklace is dropped unceremoniously on the table, right beside his coffee cup. 

"Fine." 

\--

Bond is the one who recruits her. 

For all of the blond’s muttering and glowering, Eve can tell that Bond still has a soft spot for her, that protectiveness that extends to anyone close enough for the man, even if she had shot him once (accidental) in the shoulder (and not life-threatening).

Eve is different. She’s a thief and a grifter with a multitude of talents that include an expertise in long range firearms and Olympic class gymnastic ability. 

She would have disappeared after the job went sideways, only that Bond had somehow gotten to the painting she wanted before she did, leaving a note with a time and an address. Eve doesn’t lose well, and she’s quite determined to get it back. 

“Hello, Eve. Or are you going by something else now?” Bond flashes her a broad, almost charming smile as he sits down next to her, clad in a sweater with a pair of aviators perched on his head. 

“You do know that that painting was supposed to be mine.” 

The blond shrugs. “I wasn’t that interested in it. It was just easier to use it to get your attention.” 

There’s a nondescript tube that he hands over. Eve pockets it, giving him a light kick under the table. Serves him right for getting to what she had been eyeing, and after she’d spent a whole week preparing for the heist. 

“What do you want, James?” A waiter comes over with a tea Eve knows she hadn’t ordered. At least her companion still remembers her choice of beverage. 

Across the table, Bond folds his arms. He still looks as intimidating as ever, and older now in the crinkle of his eyes. “A bit of business, I must say. A second chance, and employment. But only if you come back to London.” 

Eve hasn't been home in years owing to that one heist at the National Gallery that has left her on almost everyone's watch list. It means that she can’t go back, not yet at least, and she has to admit, she is missing London.

Her curiosity is piqued. Whoever Bond is now working for, they must be exceedingly well connected if they can call off the Interpol alert that she knows still hangs over her head. 

"When do we leave?"

The blond merely offers a lopsided curl of his lips and pushes an envelope across the table. 

"Tonight." 

\--

Q isn't recruited, not by anyone. No-one knows where he comes from, and as he often likes to say, no one ever sees him coming. 

Q simply inserts himself into their life, showing up one morning with a laptop in hand and a mug of Earl Grey in the other. 

He knows, of course, of the ragtag team that M somehow has managed to put together, each damaged cog working perfectly in sync with the others. There is one man who interested him, a man with eyes the color of ice, someone he had tracked from a past life into this one. 

Some of them still have their secrets, the man muses, staring at Bond having a rather heated conversation with M (most possibly about him, he thinks, he can see Bond’s lips forming the letter Q a few times). 

Some of them do need to keep their secrets.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still fitting roles in, I mean, they're all so versatile and quite fun to write, really.


End file.
